Love, Beer, and Maple Syrup
by Moonfire Wolfe
Summary: For an invisible Nation, Canada seems to have left quite an impression on Prussia. Between Matt's secrets, the Provinces and Territories, and Gilbert's unavoidable awesomeness, the two begin to grow closer. And there's no end in sight. Crappy summary. Like, whoa, this is cheesy...
1. I See You

For all you good little followers who still believe I'm alive~

Here's some fluffy, sweet PruCan. 'Cause I ship 'em.

Fair warning, this whole fic is sort of drabble-esque, and this chapter and the next will certainly be fixed up at some point. They were just written well before everything else was, and my style shifted again...

Anyways, I don't own Hetalia. If I did, by virtue of the existence of New Prussia, PruCan would be cannon, and the fanservice would NEVER END!

Moony

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><p>Chapter 1- I See You<p>

CLACK!

Canada rolled over in bed, his face twisting into a grimace at the sudden, sharp sound of something solid hitting his window. He burrowed under his pillow, grunting in annoyance.

Clack! CLACK!

"Oh, for Maple's sake..." Canada growled, reaching for his glasses in irritation, nearly knocking them off his nightstand. He managed to snag them, slamming them onto his nose as he rolled into a sitting position, glaring at his alarm clock. It was just after 2.30 AM. Not that he'd been sleeping very well, but he did like to _try_ at night. Whoever was assaulting his house was going to get it right upside the head.

He stumbled to his 'window', aka the full sized glass door to his balcony, and drew back the drapes, unlocking it. He stepped out into the frigid air of an early February night, eyes scanning the ground for the perpetrator.

"Kesesesese~!" The slightly unnerving laugh sounded directly beneath his perch, and he groaned. Good Lord, not tonight. Or this morning, as it stood. He leaned over his balcony, finally catching sight of his 'visitor'. Red eyes glinted up at him from a pale face, framed in silver-white hair. As usual, a small yellow bird was perched on the top of his head.

"Guten morgen, Matt!" He shouted up, his loud and enthusiastic voice doing nothing for Canada's mood.

"Do you know what time it is, Prussia?" He ground out, putting all of his willpower behind maintaining a polite tone of voice. The former kingdom shrugged.

"Well, it's morning, right?" He grinned up at the blonde, who frowned.

"It is, to put it politely, stupid o'clock in the morning. People tend to sleep during this lovely part of the morning, Prussia. Can you imagine what I was trying to do before rocks started pelting my window?" He crossed his arms, trying his best not to glare at the older Nation.

"Oh. I guess that may not have been my awesomest moment." He pushed his hair back, blushing a little. Canada couldn't remember ever hearing Prussia admit to being in the wrong, but it was a very pleasant surprise nonetheless.

"I'm sorry, Mattie. I didn't mean to wake you. I-" The Prussian hugged his arms around himself, and Matthew Williams registered two things at once;

One, the self proclaimed King of Awesome had just apologized to him.

Two, he was standing in knee-deep snow, in a pair of ripped jeans and a thin, torn hoodie.

"I just didn't know where else to go. My kid brother just kicked me out." Prussia said, his voice low. Not angry, Matthew realised, but instead an emotion he was very familiar with.

Loneliness.

He sighed, and decided that the current situation needed fixing. Immediately.

"Go to the front door, Prussia. You'll catch your death out there in those clothes." The Prussian scoffed, grinning.

"I'm too awesome to catch my death! You know that!" He shouted up, as he began trudging through the snow towards the front of the house. Matthew watched him for a few moments, before heading back into his house and closing the door. Kumajirou looked up from his side of the bed, clearly unamused.

"Loud."

"Yes, I know, Kuma." The golden haired Nation rolled his eyes, walking for the bedroom door.

"Hungry."

"Okay. C'mon, I'll make some pancakes." He waited for the bear to trundle to his side, and they headed downstairs together. Matthew ran one hand through his hair, in a failed attempt to straighten it, before opening the front door.

Gilbert Beilschmidt stood on his front porch, smiling as a small cloud of mist left his nose. Other than his clothing and Gilbird, he only had a small, black backpack, slung over one shoulder.

"Come in, Prussia." Matthew mumbled, waving the man inside. The albino smiled a little wider, and stepped into the entry of Canada's home. It was a tasteful house, the walls a conservative off-white, and the floor hardwood. He breathed in the smell of maple that often followed the Canadian to and from meetings, and sighed.

"I'm sorry to barge in on you, Mattie. Like I said, I really don't know where else I could've gone..." The Canadian smiled a little, chuckling.

"I don't mind, Prussia. I'm just not used to having guests arrive before a godly hour. Y'know, like noon."

Prussia blinked. Then burst out laughing.

"Mein Gott, Matt, you have no idea-" He cut himself off with another round of laughter.

"Glad I amuse you." Matthew muttered, rolling his eyes.

"You _do_, though! It's one of the awesome things about you!" He snickered a few more times, then his tone became a little more serious, "And call me Gilbert. Even better, just call me Gil!" He slid out of his snow-logged combat boots, tucking them neatly next to Matthew's army issue winter boots.

Matthew had to hold back a gasp of shock.

Gilbert was _shorter_ than him. By at least an inch.

He'd always thought that the loud, charismatic man was taller. He had always seemed much taller. Maybe it was his enthusiasm.

"You're staring, Birdie." Gilbert observed, smirking a little.

"...Birdie...?" Matthew frowned, then felt something move in his hair. He squeaked, reaching up in shock. A sharp little peck on his fingers greeted him and he pulled back in surprise.

"Gilbird, you behave! We are guests!" Gilbert hissed, and grabbed Matthew's shoulder, "Hold still for a sec, Mattie." He grumbled, and tried to grab the tiny yellow bird from his new perch in the blonde's hair, "Gilbird, aus! Seriously, cut it out!" He snapped at the bird, who was now pecking at his fingers. Gilbird chirped indignantly, trying to hide in Matthew's bangs.

"Oww! Gilbert, let go! That's not your bird!" Matthew squeaked, trying to pull free of the Prussian's hands, which had tangled in his hair in their quest to catch Gilbird, "Ouch, damnit, Gil! Let go of my hair!"

"Okay, okay, calm down!" Gilbert soothed, freeing Matthew's hair from his death grip. The bird continued to chirp incessantly from in the Canadian's hair. "Gilbird, you are an _arschloch_." He growled at the bird.

"No. No swearing at the bird. Not this damn early." Matthew groaned. He rubbed his temples, careful to keep his fingers away from the feathered invader. "I think I'll make pancakes. Yep, I'm making pancakes." He turned for the kitchen, fingers still massaging his temples. Gilbert frowned, and looked at Kuma as Matthew vanished into the kitchen.

"Is he okay?" He asked the bear, who cocked his head to one side.

"Who?"

"So help me, Kuma. Canada. Your owner." He glared at the bear, who blinked.

"Oh. He was crying in his sleep. He woke up very upset." Kumajirou snuffled at the air, smelling the familiar scent of his favourite snack.

"Did he get any sleep?" Gilbert asked, as the bear trundled off to the kitchen.

"Not really. He kept talking in his sleep before he woke up. He fell asleep again before you made noise." Kuma gave him a look. Gilbert, in turn, looked at Canada.

The younger Nation was slumped forward over the stove, his entire person radiating exhaustion. Gilbert could see that his obnoxious little bird had climbed back to the top of Matthew's head, as if to observe the making of the pancakes. The albino frowned. As far as he knew, cooking while in a state of exhaustion was not safe. Not at all.

"Matthew? Are you okay?" He asked, letting his backpack slide off his shoulder and to the floor, "You look a little tired."

"We've been over this, Gil. It's stupid o'clock-" Here he yawned, "In the morning. Just-" Another yawn, "Let it go." He plated the first batch of pancakes, placing half in Kumajirou's bowl, and handing Gilbert the rest. "I'll grab you some syrup-"

"I'll grab it. Birdie, you're dead on your feet." He put the pancakes down on Matthew's kitchen table, and turned for the fridge.

"What's with 'Birdie'...?" Matthew asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Well, Gilbird likes you. And your hair is the same colour as his feathers. And you act a lot like a bird." He blushed, glad that the Canadian had turned back to the stove.

"...I act like a bird...?" Matthew sounded bemused, "Is that an insult, or a compliment?"

"A compliment! Birds are awesome!" Prussia confirmed hurriedly, coaxing a laugh out of the younger Nation.

"Good. I'm not sure I wouldn't beat you to death with a hockey stick, if you'd been trying to insult me." The Canadian flashed him an innocent smile, before plating his own food and sitting across the table from Gil's plate, "...I said 'if', Gilbert." He smirked.

"I know that!" Gilbert laughed, returning to the table with his syrup. He blinked. "How do you cook these things so fast?" Canada chuckled, grabbing the syrup and dousing his pancakes, before scooping up a forkful.

"The magic of Maple." Canada mumbled through a mouthful of pancakes, completely serious. Gilbert nodded, knowing better than to argue. They both looked to the table, as Gilbird finally left Matthew's hair, in favour of the pancakes on his plate.

"Gilbird. You are an _ass_." Gilbert sighed, picking up the tiny bird. He pecked his master's finger again, but lighter, and more affectionately. Matthew laughed softly, reaching out and stroking the little bird's feathers. Gilbert watched in surprise as the bird hopped onto his friend's finger, and chirped, cocking his head to one side. Matthew mirrored the expression with a tired smile.

"For the record, Gilbird? I agree with your human." He chuckled, as the bird twittered, fluttering back to the table. Matthew ate another mouthful of pancake, as Gilbert proceeded to stuff himself. "Gil?"

"Mmmm?"

"Look, I don't mean to pry, but why did Germany kick you out?"

"Well, I kind of managed to cover every surface of the kitchen in maple syrup. And both he and Feli were in there at the time." He chuckled, "Damn, I've known Luddy since forever, and I've never seen him that _pissed_." He ate more of his pancakes, and sighed, "He'll let me come home when he cools down. I hope."

"He will. He's-" He yawned again, rubbing at his eyes, "Your brother. He loves you." He set his chin on the table, sighing, "Sometimes, I wonder about my brother. He's usually ignoring me, if he's not making jokes about me."

Gilbert blinked. Matthew had never said anything about himself, not any of the times that Gilbert had come to mooch company and food off the young Canadian. He figured exhaustion may be loosening his younger friend's tongue.

"Oh, come on, Birdie. Alfred loves you, you know that."

"Well, he could stand to s-show it once and a while..." Matthew dropped his voice to a pitiful whisper, and Gilbert was shocked to see moisture in the Nation's eyes.

"Birdie..." He whispered, as the young man's hands clenched into fists.

"I get these n-nightmares, y'know? Where no one can hear me, and they're all convinced that I don't exist. That America is the only one out of the two of us who ever existed. I scream, and scream, and no one hears me." He wiped a hand across his face, sniffling a little, "But that's my life, Gilbert. I'm just America's invisible brother. I'm invisible at meetings, no one hears me. I might as well not exist-" Gil cut him off with a gentle hand against his cheek, leaning across the table to reach him.

"I see you, Matt. I hear you, and you are AWESOME. Not quite as awesome as me, but no one can be _that_ awesome. Too damn awesome for everyone else, if they can't see you."

"Gil-" Matthew sniffled, leaning into his hand. Gilbert wasn't expecting that. The sweet little Canadian raised his violet eyes to meet Gilbert's own brilliant red. Gilbert had never really looked closely at his friend's eyes, and he could not believe the stunning beauty in front of him. While his own eyes had been described as looking like rubies, Matthew's looked like a pair of perfectly matched amethyst stones, deep and filled with a world of emotions.

"I don't care what they say. You're amazing, Birdie. And if they don't see that, it's their own loss."

"But I want them to." Matthew whimpered softly, "I-I'm _lonely_, Gil. I'm so tired of being alone. If no one recognizes me, how can I even exist?"

"Birdie-"

"My own family _forgets me_, Gilbert. My brother, my father, my Papa. They hardly ever remember me. At least your brother remembers you enough to get mad at you. It scares me, Gil. I-I don't want to disappear..." He trailed off, as Gilbert stood, and skirted the table, pulled him to his feet, and hugged him. He breathed in Gilbert's scent, of old paper, beer, and a spicy smell he had no name for. "I-I'm sorry. You have your own problems, Gil. I shouldn't be throwing mine at you, too-"

"Who else stops to listen? Besides, I went and woke you up at stupid o'clock in the morning." He smirked, patting Matthew's shoulder, "I think it's the least I could do. Now, go to bed before you fall over, vogelchen." He steered the Canadian towards the stairs, and guided him up and to his bedroom. Matthew was asleep the moment he hit the pillow, a soft smile on his face. Gil smiled in return, and slipped back down the stairs, to crash on the couch (which he was seriously considering naming New Prussia). He saw Kuma, just leaving the kitchen. The bear waddled over, and looked up at him.

"You made him smile. Thank you."

Then, the bear was headed upstairs, to watch over his human, as Matthew might put it.

Gil just chuckled, and curled up to sleep.

A shrill scream woke him several hours later. His body working faster than his mind, he was up the stairs, and in Matthew's room, before his brain registered that he had moved. He saw Matthew sitting up, gasping desperately between the fractured sobs that left him.

"Matt?" He scrambled to sit next to the panicking man, pulling him close. It took him a moment to realise that Matthew wasn't just frightened by whatever dream had plagued his sleep. He was in a full out panic attack.

Gilbert had dealt with Ludwig's night terrors after the Wars. He had struggled through his own PTSD, after the Cold War. But he had never seen someone with such raw terror in his eyes, as his violet-eyed Canadian friend.

"Breathe, Mattie. You need to breathe." He gently coached, rubbing the blonde's back. He continued to do so, for the minutes it took for Matthew to reach a point where he could talk.

"In-inhaler. Top d-drawer." He gasped, trying to even out his breathing. Gilbert nodded, standing to open the drawer. The inhaler was wedged between a copy of Hamlet, and another bottle of pure maple syrup. He had to chuckle at that.

"Where don't you hide maple syrup, Matt?" He murmured, handing the inhaler to his friend. Matthew depressed the button, breathing in as deeply as he could. It took another minute before he could talk again.

"T-thank you, Gil." He rasped, leaning against his headboard.

"No problem." He sat down beside him, "Y'know, you never mentioned you have asthma."

"I don't. It's actually damage from gas attacks. During the Wars." He shrugged, "It's not a problem, when I don't get a panic attack at the same time." He looked at his feet, "I'm just a bundle of problems, I am." He managed a weak laugh.

"I still wish you would tell me these things, Birdie. I'm here to listen." He patted the Canadian's shoulder, and gained a smile. Just then, Gilbird flew into the room, chirping loudly.

"Was?" Gilbert asked the bird, who continued to chirp loudly.

"You understand him?" Canada asked, watching in interest.

"Ja, sometimes. He says my phone's going off, with Ludwig's ringtone." He relaxed next to Matthew, who looked at him in confusion. Gilbert smirked. "Herr stick-up-his-ass can wait. I'm staying with you for a while. He kicked me out, so he'll have to live without my awesome presence. You, meanwhile, will be graced with it." He poked Matthew's cheek, grinning at the way the younger man blushed, giggling just a little.

"I'm looking forward to it, Gil." He whispered, leaning against the albino, who grinned.

"Kesesesese. Me too, Birdie."He smirked, then a thought came to him, "You do have beer, right?"

"Ever had Canadian beer before?" He smiled at the slight shake of the head Gilbert gave him in response, "Well, then, we'll have plenty of beer."

"Ver Gut, Birdie."


	2. The Good Old Hockey Game

Eyup! Lookie, two chapters in two days! Aren't you all lucky! Thank you for the lovely reviews, and let the story continue!

Disclaimer: If I owned it, would this be Fanfiction? I didn't think so.

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><p>Chapter 2- The Good Old Hockey Game<p>

"Oh, COME ON, Ref! Tabernac! That was in, you bastard!" Gilbert could hear Matthew shouting at the TV. Actually shouting, at a normal, loud volume. He walked into the den, leaving the safety of Yukon's bedroom. Matthew had called his daughter, Naska, to make sure that Gilbert wouldn't end up on the receiving end of an ice pick for borrowing the room, almost a week ago. Naska really didn't care. And so Gilbert had moved in.

Temporarily, of course.

Ludwig hadn't exactly been happy about it, but then, West needed to learn to live with his mistakes. And he had Feliciano, anyway. Gilbert was, admittedly, a little jealous of them. He had never really been in a relationship. Sure, there were the occasional one-night stands with pretty human women. And, he was willing to admit, one or two pretty men. And there was the whole, utterly confusing and depressing thing with Hungary and Austria. But, aside from his brother, there were very few people who could even stand his presence.

The thin blonde currently cussing out the referee on television was one of them.

"Who's winning?" Gilbert asked brightly, flopping onto the couch beside the fuming man.

"The damn Flames. Tabernac. The ref is NOT being fair." He grumbled, "If I was there-"The blonde let that hang in the air, shaking one fist as he glared at the man in question. Gilbert knew better than to point out that the call had been legitimate.

"So, the Oilers are still the underdogs?" He raised an eyebrow, snatching a beer off the table. Matthew nodded, copying his movements.

"Yep. Albert is going to be upset." He took a drink of his beer, "He and Brittany had a bet on today's game. If I recall correctly," He grinned, "Albert will now likely be her slave by the end of the day."

"Wasn't slavery abolished?" Prussia asked with mock horror. Matthew laughed.

"Yeah, but you try telling_ that_ to Hick One and the Delinquent."

Suddenly, the crowd on the TV erupted into a new roar of excitement, drawing their attention. Matthew leaned towards the screen, shouting right along with them.

"Come on, COME ON! Yes, YES, YES!" He mimed a slap shot, as Gilbert leaned slightly out of his way, "SHOOT THE DAMN PUCK, TABERNAC!" He screamed, and leapt from his seat as the puck shot into the net, "YES! SCORE!" He continued to bounce up and down, sending the bag of microwave popcorn, previously safe on his lap, flying over the floor of his den. "Tie game! Effing RIGHT!" He did a victory dance, still sending airborne popcorn in all directions. Gilbert could not help but laugh at the expression on Matthew's face; the wide, almost manic grin of joy was so different from the blonde's usual, shy smile. He couldn't help but wonder how many people had seen this louder, more vibrant side of Matthew before. Maybe America and France. _Maybe _England. He noticed that the TV had gone to commercial.

"I can't believe they pulled that off! Only a few minutes 'till the end of regulation, too." Matthew laughed softly, and looked at Gilbert, "Sorry if I startled you, eh. I tend to get a little, well, _excited_, when I watch hockey. Alfred says I'm crazy, but then, he's much worse at baseball games." Gilbert chuckled.

"I think it's pretty awesome that you can be so loud, Birdie. Why don't you speak up like that at meetings?" He raised an eyebrow, and the blonde sighed.

"I've tried, Gil. I just... can't..." He shrugged, smiling a little, "I don't get it, either, if that helps." Gilbert noticed that he was rubbing at his wrists, as if they were itchy or sore. The TV again interrupted any conversation that might have come from it, as the final minutes of the game flew by.

"Looks like it's going to sudden death, eh?" Matthew grinned at his houseguest, who grinned back. Matthew was silently grateful that Gilbert didn't have a problem with his obsession with hockey, a fault shared by both Kumajirou and Cuba. Since his friend had 'moved in', over a week ago, he had begun to feel much happier. To have a companion who not only saw him all the time, but cared about him enough to sit with him during one of his anxiety attacks, was a pleasant change.

"Ja. Looks that way, Birdie." Gilbert affectionately poked Matthew in the side, eliciting a soft giggle from the blonde. But then, the crowd was screaming again, and they both watched in amazement as the Oilers stole the puck, skating it down towards the Flames' net.

"YES!" Matthew screamed as the puck slid past the goalie's guard. Gilbert himself was shouting with excitement, hurriedly putting down his beer as he caught Matthew in a fierce hug. The Canadian returned it, caught in the moment of joy at the team's victory, "They did it! They DID IT!" Matthew let out a giddy laugh, clinging to Gilbert.

"Determined little bastards, your Oilers!" Gilbert laughed, ruffling Matthew's hair. They pulled apart, settling back onto the couch. After a few moments, Matthew leaned on Gilbert's shoulder, and whispered,

"Thank you, Gil." The albino raised an eyebrow.

"What for, Vogelchen?"

"Watching with me. No one else does." He chuckled, shrugging, "Alfred's too scared I'll beat him to death with a hockey stick if an American team wins." Gilbert wrapped an arm around the smaller man's shoulders. He couldn't even fathom why anyone would forget the gentle, beautiful Canadian, whose head was resting against the crook of his neck. His heart skipped a beat as he realised what he'd just thought.

'I just thought that Mattie's beautiful. Where the hell did _that_ come from? Not that he _isn't_ beautiful, but-' He blinked, willing his brain to shut off for a few seconds so that he could talk to the blonde.

"He _should_ be scared. Stupid America, thinking he could beat _you_ at hockey and get away with it, Birdie." He snickered at the thought; America running away screaming, from a hockey stick wielding Matthew, "Besides, it really is a fun sport to watch. I'd love to try playing it sometime, Mattie."

Matthew looked at Gilbert with wide, excited eyes.

"R-really? Well, there's an ice rink not far from the conference center where I'm hosting the next World Conference. I'd be honored to teach you how to play, Gil."

Gilbert couldn't get over the fact that Matthew, with a full, brilliant red blush spreading across his cheeks, was likely the cutest thing he had _ever_ seen.

"It's a date, then!" Gilbert declared, giving Matthew a hundred-watt smile.

"A-a _date_?" Matthew mumbled, as if shocked by the idea. Gilbert instantly felt regret, and fear that he'd gone too far with his choice of words.

"As friends, of course! As the most awesome people in existence, we need to engage in awesome activities with each other!" He hurriedly fumbled for words, only stopping when Matthew gently nudged him.

"You don't need to _explain_, Gil. I'm okay with it. I just-" He chuckled, blushing even brighter, "I've never been on a date. Not even a 'friends' date. No one's ever remembered me long enough to bother." Gilbert scoffed.

"Bah, none of them are awesome enough for you, Birdie. Their loss. We're going to have the most awesome time EVER!" He fist pumped, then frowned, "Although, there might be one small problem..." At Matthew's frown, he chuckled nervously, "I haven't really skated for a long time, Birdie..."

"It'll come back to you. Don't worry; you'll do just fine, Gil." Matthew gave him a reassuring smile, just as his cell phone began to chime out the tune of 'A Bag of Weed' from Family Guy. Matthew paled a little, "Oh. That'll be Brittany. Crap. She probably wants to hide from Albert in my maple bunker."

Gilbert blinked.

"...Maple bunker...?"

Matthew rolled his eyes.

"Who was stuck between Alfred and Ivan when they played with big, unstable guns for decades? I thought it sounded nicer than 'nuclear bomb shelter'. Besides, I hide my extra maple syrup out there now." He looked at Gilbert, taking in his bemused expression, "What?"

"You never cease to amaze me, Birdie." Gilbert chuckled, pulling the Canadian closer. Matthew didn't object, enjoying the excuse for ignoring the phone.


	3. Let's Grab Some Timmy's, Eh?

Helllllooooooo. Have some PruCan.

Chapter 3 - Let's get some Timmy's, eh!

"Please stop apologizing, Vogelchen."

"I will not. It's practically a criminal offense."

"Matt. You forgot to take me out for _coffee_. It's okay!"

"Correction; I forgot to take you out to Timmy's. That is NOT okay."

Gilbert would have laughed, but he knew very well that Matthew was dead serious. In the two weeks he'd spent at Matthew's house, he'd learned to pick up on the subtle changes in his demeanor, allowing him to guess at Matthew's true feelings, well hidden behind Canadian politeness. Right now, he was picking up on a large amount of self loathing on Matthew's part.

"Stop beating yourself up over this." He flicked the back of Matthew's head, earning a sour look from the blonde.

"You've been at my place for over two weeks, Gilbert. Two weeks! And I haven't taken you to a Tim Horton's! I'm the worst host _ever_." The blonde moaned, burying his face in his hands. How could he _ever_ have forgotten to bring his friend to a Timmy's? He had only realised his failure when Gilbert had announced, sadly, that he would have to go home in a couple of days, due to Germany's constant nagging, and the fact that, as East Germany, he did actually have some work that needed doing. Then, the fact that he and Gilbert hadn't _done anything_ even vaguely interesting with their time together had registered. No notably Canadian activities, no visiting cheesy tourist attractions, just sitting in front of the TV, drinking copious amounts of beer, and talking.

Not that there was anything wrong with that. Matthew had absolutely enjoyed himself. He was fairly sure that the Albino had enjoyed himself, too. Turned out that Gilbert liked Molsons almost as much as he liked maple syrup.

"Mattie, seriously, it's fine! We're going now, so cheer up." Gilbert gave an exasperated sigh, waving his hands in the air. The blonde contemplated this for a moment before nodding.

"I accept your argument as logical." He stated, as they entered the coffee shop, "Oh, how do you take your coffee?"

"Two cream, two sugar." Gil answered, breathing in the smells of the shop, "Wow, they have so many different doughnuts and things!" He snickered, "Never, ever let West find out about this place. Seriously." Matthew raised an eyebrow.

"Why's that?"

"Let's just say that his kitchen might turn into a Tim Hortons. Weston loves making little cakes and things, though he'll never admit that." Matthew hummed contemplatively.

"That's not nessecarily a bad thing. I mean, Ludwig is a very good cook, I seem to recall." He smiled, as Gilbert looked at him in confusion, "During the Cold War, you got letters from Ludwig, via Toris, right?"

"Ja," Gilbert nodded, as they advanced through the line, "Und he got letters from Felix. Wait-" He looked at Matthew in surprise, "That was YOU?" Matthew grinned smugly.

"Yes. I had a valid reason to visit Ivan through that entire era. And Felix, Ludwig, and Feliciano asked very nicely." They were next in line at that point, and the next cashier waved to Matthew.

"I can help you over here, Matt!" She grinned, and the pair walked over.

"Hey, Jules. Can I get two Double-Doubles, and two Canadian Maple doughnuts, please?" Matthew smiled, and the girl, Jules, nodded.

"Cash or Tim-Card? And to stay, or to go?"

"Card, and to stay, please." He pulled a small card showing a cup of Tim Hortons coffee out of his wallet, and handed it to the girl. She swiped it, and handed it back.

"Kay, grab a table. I'll bring you your order in a minute." She winked, and Matthew nodded his thanks, guiding Gilbert to a free table by a window.

"So. Jules?" Gilbert raised his eyebrows sugestively. Matthew blushed.

"It's not like that! I'm a regular here, since it's the closest Timmy's to Parliment Hill, and she's a very sweet girl." He drummed his fingers on the table, "Not to mention she's a brilliant artist. Undiscovered, but she's good." He saw the unconvinced look on Gilbert's face, and rolled his eyes, "I'm about as straight as that old lady's hair, okay? I'm not interested in girls." He had pointed at an elderly woman with extremely curly hair, and was now blushing even more furiously.

"Ja, ja I believe you."Gilbert chuckled, as Matthew continued to blush. Jules then appeared, holding a tray with two cups of coffee, and the two doughnuts.

"Order up!" She smiled, passing each of them a coffee, and setting the doughnuts down on the table.

"Thanks."

"Danke." They both nodded.

"You're welcome. So. I've never seen you around before. Usualy the only person who comes with Mattie is his loudmouth brother. So what's your name?"

"Gilbert Beilschmidt. And you are?" He gave a slight bow of his head.

"Julie Harker. Just call me Jules; everyone does." She beamed.

"Then you may call me Gil, or Lord Awesome. Up to you, really." He gave a smirk as Matthew tried to decide it they were matching wits, or flirting. He didn't know why the idea of Gilbert flirting with his friend bothered him, but it did.

"Gil sounds good. So," And here she waggled her eyebrows, exactly as Gilbert had done not five minutes earlier, "Are you Mattie's boyfriend or something?" Gilbert blinked as Matthew squeaked. Literaly squeaked.

"Julie! You don't just go around asking everyone who sits with a guy for coffee if they're in a relationship! He whisper-yelped, face going redder by the second, "It's very impolite!" The girl shrugged, tossing her hair.

"So, is that a yes?"

"JULES-!" Matthew ground out, even as she chuckled and sauntered away. He turned to Gilbert, still beet red, "God, Gil, I'm sorry. Julie just likes to assume things-"

"Matt, It's cool. Okay?" He snickered, "Mein Gott, your face is so red, Birdie." He took a sip of his coffee, and paused, "Damn, this is good."

"Sweet Canadian Nectar." Matthew mumbled into his cup, trying to hide his face. Gilbert nodded seriously.

"Ja, that sounds about right." He bit into his doughnut, and his face literaly lit up with pleasure, "Oh Mein Gott. This may be the most awesome doughnut that the Awesome Me has ever tasted in mein awesome life." Matthew chuckled, continuing to sip his coffee.

"Now, see? This is why I was so mad that I forgot to bring you here."

"Ja, I get it now. This coffee could be worshiped, you know." Matthew nodded seriously.

"Where do you think America's joke about Tim Horton being the Priminister came from?"

"Pfffft!"

"Don't laugh, eh!"


	4. Bruises

Hello, hello~

So, this chapter is specially for the Calgarian who reviewed on the chapter. Comments like yours get me off my turtle-dragon ass and posting more story. So, here's some more fluff for you. Well, some fluff. Some darkness.

I guess a warning for self harm needs be said. It doesn't actually happen, but don't read if it could trigger you to hurt yourself, m'kay? I have a friend who struggled with self harm, and it's seriously not the answer.

Anyways, enjoy, review, byzies~

Chapter 4- Bruises

Matthew winced as he stepped out of his car, unconciously rubbing at the black eye forming on the left side of his face. It throbbed in tandem with a few scattered bruises along his ribs. He sighed heavily, and headed for his door. He should have known better than to try to calm Cuba down after America had gotten him all riled up. The island Nation, allready furious, had attacked him before he could even yelp out who he was.

Of course, Cuba had been very upset when he realised that it was Matthew, not Alfred, who he had just beaten black and blue. He had even bought him a large, maple ice cream, and apologized profusely. And Matthew had pretended that he was alright, that the bruises didn't hurt, because they didn't really. At least not compared to the crushing pain in his heart, at being mistaken for his brother yet again.

With Gilbert gone, as he had been for several weeks, things had gone back to normal for the quiet Canadian. And normal wasn't pleasant, or even remotely healthy. He knew that feeling so tired that getting up was a physical challenge was bad, that the absolute lack of any sort of drive was a symptom of a much bigger problem. Hell, he knew that his addiction, the secret that had been suprisingly easy to keep from the rest of the world, was downright dangerous. He rubbed at his wrists, itching furiously under his sweater, as he unlocked his door, stepped inside, and locked it again.

'I need to cut. Just a few cuts. Not like last time. I need to get this under control.' He growled at himself mentaly, willing himself not to do it at all as he walked up the stairs to his bathroom, as if in a trance. He shouldn't be hurting himself, part of him screamed, what would his Papa think? What would his brother think? Hell, what would Gilbert think?

What did Gilbert's opinion matter, part of his brain sneered. He shook his head, willing the conflicting voices to shut up as he locked the bathroom door, fumbling with the drawer where he hid his blades. No one would think twice about spare razor blades being kept with his razor, he had always reasoned. He grabbed one, rolling down his left sleeve to look at his wrist. Pale, nearly invisible lines criss-crossed his even paler skin. There were no fresh marks.

'I haven't done this since before Gil went home.' He slowly realised, putting the blade down on the counter. Gilbert, he thought, Gilbert made it easier to bear. The loneliness, the hatred he felt for himself, they had no place when the cheerful albino was around. Gilbert had become his new addiction, trying to cancel out the older, more dangerous one. Quiting cold-turkey had not been a good idea, he decided, scratching absently at his scars. Could he stop for good, he wondered, looking at the blade. Hell, it had to have been a month since he last cut himself. Why not another few days, at least? The next World Conference was in only two days, at his place. He would see Gilbert there. Hell, he'd even promised to teach him how to play hockey.

'A date, he called it. Why do I wish it was more than just a 'friends' date?' He clutched at his aching head, and sighed. He didn't deserve someone as kind as Gilbert. God knew it would be much safer not to let himself hope for something more. He didn't want the hurt that would come with any rejection the Prussian could give. He didn't want to be forgotten again, either. The voices began to buzz inside his head again, each screaming at him with different arguments, diferent opinions, and he let out a soft cry of frustration before bringing his fists down on the counter.

"Calisse! Will you all just SHUT UP!" He screamed, and the voices petered off as he swept the blade back into the drawer, slammed it shut, and sunk down against the wall, sobbing softly. He stayed there for what felt like hours, slowly falling asleep.

He was woken by the ringing of his doorbell. Wincing in pain, he peeled himself off the floor, unlocked the bathroom door, and stumbled down the stairs. He noted as he passed the kitchen that it was three in the morning, and unlocked the door, opening it.

"Hey there, Birdie, I-"

They both blinked, Matthew from a mixture of sleepiness and disbelief, Gilbert from horror. The Prussian was the first to speak.

"Shit, Matt! What the hell happened to you?!" He moved forward, catching the clearly battered man against him in a gentle hug. Matthew couldn't help it. The bruises all over his front _hurt_, and he was tired, and everything was all so messed up. He hated himself for it, but couldn't stop himself as he began to cry. "Hey now, shhh. It's okay, Birdie. It's okay."

Gilbert cursed internaly, vowing that whoever had put the younger Nation in such a state would suffer for it. He guided the shaking canuk into the living room, and a sleepy Kumajirou looked up at him from the couch.

"Who...?" The bear mumbled, and Gilbert glared.

"You know very well who. Scram, furball." The bear sniffed indignantly, hopping off the couch, only to climb onto Matthew's armchair and curl up again. The Prussian gently set the Canadian down on the couch, looking him over with worry in his eyes. "Mattie?" Violet eyes looked up at him, hazey with tears, "Mattie, who did this to you?" He gently stroked the younger man's hair, and waited paitiently for a reply.

"C-Cuba. H-he didn't m-mean to." Matthew managed to choke out, fighting to regain control of his emotions as Gilbert frowned, a murderous sheen in his red eyes, "H-he mistook me for A-Alfred. H-he didn't m-mean it."

"I don't care if he meant it or not. He hit you, Birdie! You look like you crawled out of a car wreck!" Gilbert exclaimed, waving one arm to emphasize his words. "Look, I get that he's your friend, Mattie, but you can't let him do this! What happens if he-" Gilbert cut himself off, looking away with what Matthew thought might be the beginings of tears in his eyes.

"G-Gilbert..."

"I'm scared for you, Birdie. What if next time you don't wake up?"He pulled the seated man against him, and Matthew could feel that he was trembling.

"I'm s-sorry..." He whispered, letting his head drop against Gilbert's shoulder.

"Fick, Matt, don't apologize. He hurt you, not the other way around."

"For worrying you..." The Canadian clarified.

"Nein, that's his fault, too. But promise me something." He tilted Matthew's chin up, "Don't go to visit that guy alone anymore. I don't want to find you with your head cracked open next time, fershtain?" The Canadian nodded, burying his head in Gilbert's shoulder again. "Ver gut. Let's get you cleaned up, Birdie."

"They're just bruises, Gil." Matthew whispered, "There's not much you can do for a bruise. They'll be gone in a day, anyways." Matthew was of course referring to the fact that, as a Nation, he healed incredibly fast.

"Well, I know a few tricks. I've been around a few hundred years longer that you, Vogelchen. It comes with the territory." He smiled, and Matthew drank in the warmth of it, "Do you have any Tiger Balm?"

"Y-yeah. Right side cupboard in the bathroom. I'll-" He started to stand.

"Nein, I'll get it. Stay put." He waved a finger, before heading upstairs. Matthew sank back against the couch cusions, realising that his headache was back. He sighed resignedly, hoping that it wouldn't be as bad as it had been earlier. Prussia soon came tromping back down the stairs, holding the tub of balm as if he had just won a battle. "Here. Take off your shirt and lie down." He ordered, crossing his arms patiently. Matthew complied, making sure to move his arms in such a way that the scars were invisible in the dim lighting. Gilbert looked over his chest and stomach, wincing.

"Will I live, Doc?" Matthew whispered wryly, trying to diffuse the anger that he could see in Gilbert's eyes. The Prussian chuckled.

"Ja, you'll be fine. Just a little worse than I thought it would be. You might have a couple cracked ribs, Matt." He looked at him with very serious eyes before sighing, "I'm going to grab some warm water and a cloth. And I'm stealing the kitchen stool. This is going to take a while." Matthew nodded, feeling sleep creeping up on him again, "Und no falling asleep. You probably have a concussion." Matthew sighed, resigning himself to having to stay awake for even longer.

He could hear Gilbert fumbling around in his kitchen, and rolled his eyes when he heard him curse at something or other. Soon enough, the silver hair and red eyes returned to his field of vision, and he could hear Gilbert dragging the stool closer, and ringing out the cloth.

"Just relax, ja? I know what I'm doing." He began to carefuly dab at the dark bruises across his friend's pale torso, letting the warm cloth sit longer on the darker blotches over his ribs. Matthew winced slightly at the pressure, but endured it. The warmth did feel very good, after all. After tending to the bruises on his body, Gilbert gently rested the warm cloth on the ink black shinner that blotted out the left side of Matthew's face. He then picked up the Tiger Balm, unscrewing the lid. "Okay, just tell me if I'm pressing too hard when I rub this stuff on." He ordered softly.

"Okay." Matthew whispered, the sweet warmth on his face making him even sleepier. Gilbert scooped up a bit of balm, and began massaging it into the smaller, lighter bruises on Matthew's belly, using gentle but firm movments to work it into the darkened skin. Matthew hummed in pleasure; the coolness of the balm was driving the pain of the bruises away. Even the more painful ones were being dulled down, and he couldn't help but sigh contentedly.

"Better?" Gilbert smiled at him, and he nodded.

"Where did you learn to do this? I can hardly feel them anymore."

"Luddy had this nasty habit of getting into fights when he was little. I had to find new ways to fix him up all the time. When China started making this stuff, I started using it on the worst of his injuries." He shrugged, "You'd never think it, but Ludwig was one hell of a pain in the ass sometimes. He provided me with plenty of oppurtunities to practice my first aid." He pulled the cloth off Matthew's face, "Alright, last one. Just keep your eye closed." Matthew nodded again, and he set to work, being especialy gentle around his friend's eye. Matthew smiled as the pain in his head subsided a little, "There we go. That feel better?"

"Much. Thank you, Gil." He turned his head to look at the Prussian, who waved a hand.

"It was nothing. Couldn't just leave you in pain like that. Speaking of which, you probably have a headache, ja?" Matthew nodded.

"Not as bad as before, though. I can handle it." He started to sit up, and was immediately impressed by how little the action hurt. Gilbert nodded, not about to pursue the subject, "Is it okay for me to sleep now?"

"Probably. But I should keep an eye on you, just in case. Concussions are sneaky." He stated, seriously. Matthew chuckled, standing.

"You say it like they're ninjas or something."

"They are! They're the ninja assassins of first aid!" Gilbert exclaimed, causing the Canadian to giggle. God, how Gilbert loved that giggle.

"Sure, sure." Matthew smiled, and Gilbert put a steadying arm around him, guiding him upstairs. He carefully sat down on his bed, before snuggling between the covers. He felt Gilbert sit down next to him, and scooted over a bit to give his friend some room. He nearly jumped when he felt Gilbert gently stroking his hair.

"Rest, Vogelchen. I'll watch over you tonight." The albino's voice whispered in his ear, and he smiled as he slipped into the first good dream he'd had in so very long a time.


	5. On Ice

So. Here's another chapter. I won't even try to excuse myself. I'm just really lazy. So. Have some protective Prussia, and Matthew talking about a boss who pissed him off royally. My family are kind of fanatics when it comes to the AVRO Arrow, and rightly so. It was years ahead of it's time, and freakin' amazing. I don't even like planes, and I like the Arrow. It was a point of Canadian pride, after all. Apologies for any historical inaccuracies. Thank you to all still reading this story. Let me know what you think, enjoy, and review.

...

Chapter 5- On Ice

After ensuring that Matthew had gone on ahead to get things set up for the conferance, Prussia sat in wait, until he saw the island Nation he was waiting for step out of a taxi. Before the representative of Cuba could even shout, he dragged him behind the conference building, and pinned him to the wall.

"What the Hell, Prussia?" He spat, trying to break free of the abino's grip. Gilbert glared evenly at him.

"I'm only going to give you this warning once, Cuba." He growled softly, and the Nation stopped squirming.

"Warning?" He asked in confusion, "Prussia, what the hell is this about?"

"Not what. Who." Prussia hissed, and continued, "I swear to God, if I hear that you've hurt Canada again, no matter how many times you apologize, or how much you think he looks like America, I will hunt you down. And I will personally show you why I was once the most feared Nation in Europe. Do you understand?"

"I-"

"_Do you understand_?"

"Yes."

"Good." He released the much bigger man, relishing in the fear in his eyes, "Now get out of my sight, you bastard." He grinned to himself as the younger Nation booked it out of the alley. He was fairly sure that the man would be a lot more careful about attacking either of the North America brothers. Birdie would be safe.

...

After the conferance, as promised, Matthew drove them to a small indoor rink. After lacing up into his own skates, he patiently helped the Prussian with his rental pair. Gilbert couldn't recall the last time he had skated, only that it was before the Cold War, and that he hadn't been very good at it to begin with. Yekaterina, the representative of Ukraine, had offered to teach him again during his time with Ivan, but the Russian hadn't much liked the idea of him hanging around with her. To prevent it from happening, Russia had broken his leg. He shivered at the memory, even as Matthew helped him to his feet.

"Nervous?" The Canadian smiled as he helped the Prussian to get his balance on the skate blades.

"Ja, a little. It's been a long time, Mattie..." He looked at the rink apprehensively.

"Relax, Gil. It'll come back once you're on the ice. And I'm here with you, okay?" He took the albino's hand, and at Gilbert's nod, led him out onto the ice. The Prussian wobbled unsteadily, and yelped.

"Not awesome. So not awesome." He muttered, clutching the Canadian like a life-line. Matthew gave him a sympathetic smile.

"Just breathe. Once you get the hang of it, it's as natural as walking." He had never seen the older Nation so nervous before, and so out of his element. He guided the man forward, not letting go of his hand. They moved at what the Canadian would normaly call a snail's pace, but he didn't dare push Gilbert to go faster. The albino was hardly keeping his balance as it was.

"This is way tougher than your hockey players make it look." Gilbert swallowed, watching the way Matthew pushed off with his skates, and trying to copy it. He immediately noticed that he was moving more smoothly, though not as gracefully as the blonde.

"They're profesionals, Gilbert. They go to special classes their whole lives to get that good. You're doing very well for someone who hasn't skated for at least half a century. And before you try comparing your skills to mine, I've been playing hockey since the sport was invented, so I'm naturaly a better skater. Not that I'm braging about it." He added with a chuckle. Gilbert snickered, trying to move a little more smothly, a little faster. It wasn't his most awesome idea ever. He yelped sharply as his skates slipped, sending him ass first into the ice, with Matthew awkwardly on top of him.

"Owww." He whined, trying to stand up, only to land face first on the freezing cold surface.

"Just hold still for a second, Gil." Matthew, who had pulled off of him before he tried standing, got to his own feet, and offered him a hand. He grabbed hold, and the younger man got him back on his feet.

"Baby steps, ja?" He smiled half-heartedly, holding onto the Canadian for balance.

"Even Gretsky started at the bottom, Gil. You're doing just fine." The blonde was bitting back giggles.

"Mein ass begs to differ." He grumbled, as they started skating again. He was very impressed by the fact that his shy friend could put up with his whining, and the fact that he was obviously slowing him down. The blonde seemed to take it in stride, as if he'd been through this teaching process before. "You teach people to skate often?" They carefuly turned the corner of the rink, Matthew chuckling.

"I constantly find new ways to entertain myself. Teaching kids to skate has always been an old standby." He glided on one foot for a few seconds, "I actually taught Ivan to play hockey, back when I was still little. He was always sneaking in the back way, what with Alaska and all. He taught me how to ice dance in return."

Gilbert blinked, trying to balance his efforts between skating and gaping at the young man.

"You taught _Ivan_?"

"Yep. He wasn't quite so scary back then, before certain bosses who I will _not_ name got inside his head. He's been working on it, too. What with the Olympics coming up and all." Gilbert shook his head in disbelief, letting Matthew guide him through another turn.

"You're crazy. He's insane."

"I will neither confirm nor deny my sanity. And I hold to the fact that he really is trying to turn over a new leaf. His current boss is making it rough for him, though." He shook his head, gliding again, "Ivan really doesn't like him very much." Prussia frowned, and unconciously sped up.

"That's never a good thing. Generaly the bosses we don't like aren't meant for the job." Matthew nodded.

"I know. The one time I had a boss I felt uneasy about, I ended up with thousands of people unemployed, national pride tarnished, and the faith of my people in the government in tatters." He glared at the ice. An honest to God, furious glare.

"Which boss, and is he still around so I can kick his ass?" Gilbert narrowed his eyes, furious that anyone who had the privelege of running Birdie's country would screw it up so badly.

"Diefenbaker. And I really don't know what the hell happened to him. For a few decades afterwords, I couldn't even hear his name without losing it. The bastard cancelled my plane. _My plane._" He kept his eyes on the ice, as they flew around the rink. Gilbert mentaly stopped to think. Canada's plane. He seemed to remember Lithuania muttering a few choice curse words about someone named Dief during the Cold War. And he definately remembered hearing Poland whine about a beautiful plane that had been destroyed during the Cold War. He had called it the Arrow, a 'God among planes'.

"The Arrow, ja? Felix mentioned it."

"Yes. Felix and his pilots loved that plane. It was the best of the best, and that stupid idiot Dief destroyed it. He even had the gall to claim, and I quote, 'There never was an Arrow'."

"Arseloch." Gilbert shook his head, barely believing what he was hearing.

"Of course, me and my pilots weren't going to let him just do away with our baby." Matthew chuckled, "He didn't know about the plane I'd been flying myself, and Arthur offered to keep it safe at his place until I'm sure I can bring it home. Still flies like a dream, all these years later."

"You are one sneaky little Nation, Matt." Gilbert laughed, and realised just how fast the pair of them were now skating, "Schisse, we're going fast. When did that happen?"

"I told you, once you get going, it's as natural as walking." He smiled, "Would you like to try on your own?"

"Ja, I guess..." Gilbert nodded as Matthew slowly let go of his hand. He was suprised by the fact that he didn't face plant on the ice, instead keeping pace with Matthew as they continued to fly around the rink, "Aww hell yeah! I think I've got it!" He cheered.

"Well done, Gil!" Matthew giggled, and Gilbert looked over to see him skating backwards.

"...Show-off..." Gilbert muttered. Matthew bowed, while turning around to face forward again.

"Guilty as charged."

...

Several minutes later, Gilbert stood in front of a hockey net that he and Matthew had hauled onto the ice. The few other people in the rink were watching with intrest as Matthew shuffled the puck around, several meters away from him. Matthew had forced him into the standard goalie mask, gloves, and shin guards, stating that he would not believe how easy it was to lose a couple teeth to a frozen puck.

"Alright, so I'll show you a few different shots, and then you can take off the monkey suit and try them. Deal?" Matthew grinned, refering to the fact that Gilbert had outright whined that the gear made him look like 'an unawesome monkey'. Gilbert nodded, trying to recall how the goalies had even moved to block in the layer of protective shielding. Matthew began skating towards him. "Watch carefuly; this is how to shoot at the bottom of the net."

Gilbert did indeed watch as the young man tore across the ice, and slamed the puck into the net. The shot itself didn't _look _complicated, but, then, he'd already made the mistake of assuming that Matthew's sport of choice was easy earlier. He passed the puck awkwardly back to Matthew, glad that he wasn't attempting to skate and shoot yet.

Matthew went over several methods for shooting at different positions on the net, as well as what he called a hook shot, which was far too complicated for Gilbert to bother paying much attention. Instead he was enjoying getting to see Matthew in his element. The lean young man was almost dancing across the ice, handling the puck artfully. There was a special light to his violet eyes, as if they had caught fire. Gilbert found himself thinking, not for the first time, how beautiful the other man was. And this time, he didn't think twice about it, and found himself subtly checking the blonde out.

'God damn, he is so cute. And he could actually be scary in that uniform. Like, scary enough to make Ivan shit himself.' He smiled at the thought, again passing the puck to the blonde, 'I wonder if he's ever gone out with anyone. I mean, he's Francis' kid, after all. He seemed more embarassed about Julie insulting me with her assumption, than about the idea of us together...'

"Alright, let's switch off. Time to see if Lord Awesome has been paying attention." Matthew called, skating towards him.

"Of course I have!" Gilbert shouted back indignantly, and met Matthew halfway, before they headed for the bench to swap gear. The lighter stick, and lack of heavy padding made the Prussian a little more confidant as they returned to the ice.

"Okay. Try to shoot it in on the lower left corner." Matthew called, smirking at him through the guard of the helmet. Gilbert nodded, and skated forward with the puck in front of him. His approach was notably slower than Matthew's, and his stick-handling was absolute crap, but he did manage to shoot, and get the puck into the net. He was fully aware that Matthew had let him have that one, probably for his bruised ego.

They kept at it for another half hour, until Gilbert was actually tired, and could shoot the puck in a straight line.

"Alright. Last one today." Matthew shouted to him from the net. He nodded, and began to skate down the rink, intent on managing the shot that would launch the puck to the top corner of the net, at least once. He got close enough, and let the puck fly.

CRACK.

"Oh, shisse-" He swore. The puck had indeed flown into the air, but not into the net. Instead, it had left a sizable dent in the helmet Matthew was wearing, "Are you okay?!"

"I'm fine, Gil. Quit worrying!" He laughed, "That's why we wear helmets. That was definately your best shot today!"

The Canadian continued to chatter softly about how impressed he was by Gilbert's progress, as they returned the gear, and Gilbert's skates, before heading outside. It was already dark, as it often was on winter evenings, and they looked up to see snowflakes drifting down from the twilight sky. Gilbert, remembering one too many snowstorms in Russia, shivered, pulling his jacket close. Matthew, meanwhile, smiled, and stuck out his tounge to catch the flakes like a five year old child, giggling at the face Gilbert made.

Gilbert decided that he would ask Matthew out. Not right then and there, but after careful planning. He had never, ever taken the time to plan ahead before. Then again, he'd never been so dead set on winning someone's heart, either.


End file.
